The Family Business
by Harikari
Summary: After a gruesome night of trouble on the Hellmouth Xander is forced to leave Sunnydale. He ends up in L.A. living with his Uncle John and two cousins, Dean and Sam. Spike & Xander slash.
1. Prologue

**The Family Business  
by Harikari**

Summary: After a gruesome night of trouble on the Hellmouth Xander is forced to leave Sunnydale. He ends up in L.A. living with his Uncle John and two cousins, Dean and Sam.

Warnings: Strong language, violence, gore, brotherly and cousinly love (sorry - no Wincest), eventual Spike/Xander slash, century year old vampire having slashy thoughts about teen Xander, crossover, spoilers for first three seasons of BtVS and possible spoilers for all later seasons, possible spoilers for season 1 of SPN and AtS.

Disclaimer: Don't own em'. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm writing this for fun, not profit.

AN: According to canon Sam was born in May 83, Dean in January 79 and Xander in 81 (in June in my mind). So if I did the math right Sam is 15, Xander is 17 and Dean is close to 20. These are the ages I'll be going by in the fic. Feedback is appreciated.

**-----**

"You know, saving people, hunting things...the family business." - Dean Winchester

-----

Prologue: Home Sweet Home

"It's kinda strange, don't you think?"

Xander pulled his History text out of his locker and shot a look at his friend. Willow was huddled close to him, biting her lip and wrapping a strand of bright red hair around her index finger in that way that showed the world she was nervous about something. Xander shoved his book into his backpack.

"What do you mean?" he asked. And he honestly wasn't sure what his best friend was asking. Strange? That could mean so many things. They lived on the Hellmouth, after all. And the way things were going right now... Well, she could be asking about school. Classes had just resumed the day before. Today was Tuesday and the second day of their Senior year. When she said strange she could be referring to the way all of the underclassmen now seemed to glide out of their way as they walked down the hall, or the fact that they could now step off campus during their lunch hour without having to worry about teachers spotting them and giving them detention. She could also be asking about Buffy. When she said strange she could be talking about the fact that their blond and buxom Slayer friend had suddenly shown up in Sunnydale two days before, looking worn and sad and mumbling something about L.A. and waitressing and being mostly over having to destroy Angel to save the world. It was necessary, she understood that now, she was sorry about everything.

Or Willow could be asking about something completely other than those things. Like maybe the plan that had been discussed at Giles's place the night before (at sunset the Scoobies were going to attack a nest of slime demons that were holed up in a large monument at the Rest Field cemetery).

"Buffy not at school with us. I mean, I know she wasn't here the last week or so of our Junior year but...her not being here just feels weird."

_Oh_. That _was strange_.

"I guess," Xander answered.

Seeming surprised at his short reply, Willow immediately stopped biting her lip and twirling her hair. Her expression morphed from nervous-thoughtful to worried-angry. Her mouth opened and Xander just _knew_ he was about to get a lecture. Right. Like he was the one who deserved a lecture and not Buffy. Buffy who had bailed on her friends and her mom and who so obviously still loved Angel deep down inside even though the guy was a _cold blooded killer_.

He slammed his locker shut and braced himself for the redhead's yelling. He already had a good idea of what she was going to say. _Are you _still_ angry, we have to be supportive Xander, she _did_ come back, I can't believe you're holding a grudge..._

"Xander! I have something for you."

Willow's mouth snapped shut. Xander spun around. Cordelia was hurrying toward them. She had the straps of her mini backpack (which was swinging wildly as she walked) in one hand and her other hand fisted around something that looked very much like a wadded up brown paper towel. She stopped in front of them, huffing and looking somewhat ruffled. Xander, feeling suddenly very fond of his girlfriend (what great timing she had) leaned in for a kiss. Cordelia shoved the paper towel, which wasn't really a towel after all, more of a waxy ball of paper, at him before his lips could make contact. He looked down at the waxy lump in his hand.

"Um," he said. "Thanks." He glanced at Willow. The redhead appeared to be just as confused as he was. He turned back to his girlfriend. "This...whatever this is is great and all but you were gone all summer and I only saw you for about five minutes yesterday and I won't even see you tonight because you said that you can't patrol for some reason so could we maybe kiss-"

Cordelia cut him off. "_Unwrap_ it," she insisted.

Xander again looked down at the lump he was holding. With his free hand he folded back the waxy paper. A tiny, intricately crafted statuette was revealed.

"It's the souvenir I promised you," explained Cordelia. She shrugged, as if uncomfortable. "It just...reminded me of you for some reason."

A little knight statuette.

Xander stared at his girlfriend. From the corner of his eye he could make out a half smile on Willow's face. He balled up the wax paper still in his hand and launched it at the nearest trash can. The paper bounced off of the rim of the bin and fell to the floor. Xander wasn't sure what a little knight figurine had to do with him or with his girlfriend's summer trip to London with her parents, but it didn't matter. He was just glad that Cordelia had actually bothered to think of him during her trip.

He shoved the knight into his pocket. "Thanks."

Again, he leaned forward to kiss his girlfriend but before his lips had a chance to meet hers, before Willow could open her mouth and start her belated lecturing the bell that signaled the start of fourth period rang out and the three teenagers scrambled for class.

-----

"So...Buffy being back. Great, right?"

Xander sighed. He felt the muscles in his back and shoulders tense. He looked over at Oz.

After a quick and easy eradication of the slime demon nest earlier that night Giles had speedily briefed all of the Scoobies on an all new nasty demon. The demon was something called a _nalbyd. _And this particular nalbyd was famous for creeping its way into unsuspecting people's houses in the dark of night and eating them. Giles wanted everyone available _on_ patrol and aiming to kill the deadly demon. And he wanted them all to _be very careful please children_.

So. That's exactly what Xander and Oz had been doing for the last hour and a half. Patrolling, eyes wide open and searching for the latest big bad. But they were tired. Oz's tennis shoes were covered in pus colored crust that had been slime two hours before, Xander's eyes were heavy with fatigue and it was getting the kind of school night late that made even Slayers and their Slayerettes drag their feet. So without really thinking about it or discussing it both teens had started toward Xander's house. Unless the other patrol teams found it, the nalbyd was just going to have to wait to be slain another night.

"Sure," Xander finally answered the werewolf. "Great." He wasn't lying, exactly. He _was_ glad that Buffy was back in Sunnydale. He was glad that his friend was safe and mostly sound. He just hadn't yet been able to shake the images of a dead Ms. Calendar, of a tortured Giles or of Angelus's twisted face from his mind. He hadn't been able to rein in the shiver of anger he felt every time he looked at or thought about the blond Slayer. And he didn't understand why his friends (mostly Willow) were treating him as if he were the bad guy for acting the way he was acting when it was Buffy who...

Well. Xander didn't really want to think too deeply about any of it. And he really, really didn't feel like talking about it.

He waited a few moments, half afraid that Willow had somehow convinced Oz to talk to him about his shiny new attitude toward Buffy. But all Oz did was nod and stuff his hands into his pockets and continue walking. Silently.

Sometimes Xander really appreciated Oz.

The werewolf didn't speak again until they had reached the stretch of sidewalk in front of Xander's house a few minutes later. "I'll see you tomorrow," he murmured. He looked around, his neck at a strange angle, before shaking his head. And then, "You're coming to the Bronze before patrol tomorrow, right? Willow and Buffy are gonna' be there and my band is playing..."

"Yeah," said Xander, a little surprised at the invitation. "Consider me there."

He stood on the sidewalk, the night air wrapped around him like a familiar blanket and the fingers of his right hand wrapped tightly around the base of the wooden stake half stuffed into his jacket pocket, until he saw Oz round the corner and disappear from sight.

He took a deep breath. Thought about the events of the day and about everything that had happened that week so far.

He headed for his front door. Across the front lawn, the yellowed grass crunching beneath his tennis shoes as he walked. Above him the stars seemed unnaturally bright in the black sky. The night around him seemed unnaturally still.

He reached the front door. Noticed that it was already ajar. The door and frame were splintered and broken.

_Dad_, thought Xander. Because his father had a habit of losing his keys, or forgetting his keys or getting tired of drunkenly fumbling for the correct key and kicking the front door in.

Xander stepped into the house and nudged the damaged door as closed as he could get it behind him.

He started down the short hallway that led into the living room. The lights were out in the house and Xander could make out the shifting glow of the television screen, could hear his father's snoring. He noted that the sound seemed slightly off. Strange. Like maybe his father had a bad cold that was making him gurgle along with his snores.

He reached the end of the hallway. His father's snoring was louder now. Closer. He stared at the television for a moment (an X-Files rerun was on), then stepped into the living room.

Froze.

Xander's father, limp and unmoving, was toe up on the living room carpet. And some _thing_ -- _scaly white flesh, long jagged fangs, claws_ -- was on its haunches, crouched over his father, chewing.

Xander didn't pause to think. Before his mind had even fully registered the fact that this was the nalbyd in his living room, this was the demon of the week feasting on his dad, Xander was coming up behind the thing. His stake was out of his jacket pocket, he was bringing the weapon down. _Stabbing_.

He got the neck. The stake stuck out of the right side of the nalbyd's head, gushes of thick black blood leaking around the edges of the weapon and down the monster's shoulders in rivulets.

It screamed. A high pitched, animal squeal and for a crazy moment Xander was wondering how. _How_ was it still screaming with ten inches of wood lodged in its throat? But the next second it didn't matter because the monster had turned, had its bulging disbelieving red eyes set on _him_. It struck out and _geez_ what did it take to kill these things again? What was it Giles had said?

Xander jumped back, the creatures claws missing his belly by inches. He reached out blindly, grabbed the first thing that met his fingers. His mother's old and heavy brass lamp. He threw the shade aside and gripped the lamp like a baseball bat and..._WHAM_. He caught the nalbyd smack in the middle of its forehead just as it was unfurling, rising from the floor and stretching to its full height. The lamp bulb shattered and two of the creatures razor blade teeth flew across the room, bounced against the wall with a clatter and landed on the floor.

The nalbyd stumbled, looked confused for a moment and Xander's mind reeled because he didn't know what to do next. Didn't know how to take the bastard down.

The creature caught its balance, cried a wet sounding cry. Dropped to all fours like a dog and sprinted around Xander, down the hallway and out the busted front door.

Still wielding the brass lamp Xander spun to follow, his sneakers making a squelching sound on the carpet because there was so much _blood_. His dad's blood. The monster's blood...

And that's when he heard it. A low keening sound.

Xander's eyes searched. Landed on his mother, huddled into a corner of the living room. She had her hand over her mouth as if she was trying to muffle her weeping and her exceptionally wide eyes were fixed on him.

"Mom," he said and let the lamp drop to the floor. "Mom. It'll be okay...I'll call, I'll call..." But before he could say anything more his mind registered the fact that the gurgling sound he had heard as he'd walked down the short hallway leading into the living room had not been his father snoring.

It had been the nalbyd slurping, eating.

Xander took in a deep, shaky breath. He stumbled to the wall. Put his palms flat against it and _leaned_.

It was almost a full minute before Xander felt steady enough to go for the phone.

-----

Dogs. A pack of wild dogs. Maybe even the same pack that had eaten Mr. Flutie, the former Sunnydale High principal, a few years ago. That's what Xander and his mother had told the EMTs and the cops and the Sunnydale General medical staff.

And judging by the way his mother had acted, the way she'd been so strangely hyper and enthusiastic while telling the lie, Xander was pretty sure that the woman had been trying to convince _herself_ that the story was true more than anyone else.

Xander had tried to talk to his mother. Once the mayhem had died down and his dad (_touch and go _the doctors were saying, _Mr. Harris has fallen into a coma and it's touch and go right now_) was out of surgery and they had been allowed in to see him for a few minutes and they were both in the room, sitting on plastic chairs that they had crowded up next to the bed. He'd tried to mention the nalbyd. Tried to explain just why he had had a wooden stake in his jacket pocket, to convince her that she must have always known deep down inside about the strangeness and evil that was Sunnydale...but she hadn't listened.

She had ignored him. Hadn't even looked at him. Hadn't even acknowledged his existence.

So Xander had finally _stopped_ trying to talk to his mom about what had happened. Had decided to give her some time to recover from the shock of it all before he tried to talk to her about anything period.

And now he was sitting in the hospital waiting room. His mother was sitting in the chair next to him, fretting out loud to no one in particular about her appearance. Should she go home and get cleaned up? Was that a stupid idea? Should she just try to wash up in the bathroom and not change and stay? Because something could happen, something could go wrong at any moment. But if she was going to be staying at the hospital for a while she would need clothes. Maybe her toothbrush.

Xander was trying not to listen to her. Instead he was forcing himself to think about the sun that he could see rising through the window, about his teachers at school and what they might think about him missing the third day of classes, about whether or not the fictional wild dog attack would make the newspaper or the news. About his friends and his girlfriend and Giles and about whether or not any of them would come to the hospital to see him when they heard.

He sighed. Without really thinking about it he lifted his hands so that his palms were just inches away from his face. He had already washed them, but there was still blood caught between the cracks in his palms.

"Xander?"

He turned, startled. His mother was looking at the blood, too. Xander let his hands drop from their place in front of his face. Gripped the edges of his chair _hard.  
_  
And then his mother was looking at _him. _She was no longer shaking or ranting or ignoring or fussing over her husband. She was looking straight at Xander. Her gaze was focused and determined.

Xander straightened in his chair. This was it. He and his mother were going to talk about what had happened the night before. They were going to talk about all the things that went bump in the night in Sunnydale and about how Xander _knew_ about them. And maybe once they got that out of the way they could concentrate on more important things like his dad. And once his dad got better (it would be a while, he knew it would be a while) Xander could go back to fighting the dark things with the rest of the Scoobies and his parents could go back to mostly ignoring their son and everything could go back to normal.

"Xander. I..." She faltered.

Xander took a deep breath. Held it.

"I think it would be best for all of us if you left...for a while. I think...I'm going to send you to live with your Uncle John for a while, Xander."

_Wait_. Xander blinked. "What?"


	2. Chapter 1

The Family Business  
by Harikari

-----

Chapter One: Farewell to Sunnyhell

The sky outside was still gray with early morning when Dean Winchester awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. He groaned, rolled out of bed and stumbled out of his room before his eyes were even fully opened.

The phone was on the end table next to the living room couch. Dean dropped down onto the couch, turned the television on with the remote he found on the sofa arm (Sam had left the tv on channel four the night before, which was now blaring the morning news) and reached for the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello, John?" A woman's voice. A woman asking for his father. Dean hadn't been expecting that.

"No." He didn't bother to elaborate. "Who is _this_?"

He realized he was being a little bit of an asshole. Didn't care. It was seven in the morning on a weekday, he was exhausted and sore all over from a hunt the night before (Brachen demons were a bitch to kill) and he had been expecting Pastor Jim or Bobby or any of the other numerous hunters his dad kept in contact with when he had answered the phone. Not some lady asking for his father by his first name.

"Oh...I'm sorry. This is Jessica Harris. I hope this isn't a bad time. I just...I really need to speak with John."

_Jessica Harris_. Dean leaned more deeply into the cushions of the couch. The name sounded vaguely familiar to him. Maybe this Jessica woman was a hunter and for some reason he just wasn't-

Wait. Harris. His mother had had a _sister_ with the married name Harris. Hadn't she?

If Dean had been eating or drinking anything just then he would've choked. As it was he managed a vague, "_Aunt_ Jessica?"

"Yes," she replied. And for the first time Dean noticed that there was something strange about the woman's voice. She sounded anxious. Upset. "Is this Dean? Or Sam?"

"Dean," he said.

"Is your father-" she began again, but he cut her off.

"Hold on a second. I'll get him for you." He put the receiver down on the table, pushed himself up off of the couch and moved toward his father's room. The door was open. John Winchester was sprawled belly down on his bed, the covers and sheet tangled around his long limbs. He was snoring. That and the fact that he hadn't gotten up with the sound of the ringing phone served as evidence of just how tired the man was.

"Dad," Dean prodded from the door. "Dad," he said again when the man stirred. "Phone for you."

-----

His father stayed on the phone for what seemed to Dean to be a very long time.

He tried to listen in on the conversation at first. He sat on the couch next to his dad and pretended to be watching Micky Smithers of channel four news report on another sunny day in Los Angeles. But all too soon (Dean had at that point only gathered something about _Anthony is in the hospital_, _wild dogs_) his father seemed to realize what he was trying to do. He gave Dean a look that clearly said _mind your own damn business and go do something useful already._

So with a frustrated sigh Dean stood and moved toward Sam's room. "Wake up! School day!" he shouted and gave the shut door a swift kick. He waited until he heard movement beyond the door, then headed for his own room. He needed to get dressed, and after that crazy hunt the night before he _badly_ needed a shower.

Twenty minutes later Dean was dressed, had put the morning coffee to brew and was in the kitchen stuffing two pop-tarts into the toaster (the breakfast of champions).

And his dad was still in the living room, talking.

"So how was the hunt last night?" asked Sam as he shuffled his way into the kitchen. He was dressed but his hair was sticking up at odd angles and his shoes were still missing in action. "Okay?"

"Fine," Dean answered.

Sam moved to the fridge to grab the box of cereal that was sitting on top of it and a jug of milk, to the cabinets to grab a bowl then to the drawer to grab a clean spoon. He spread everything out on the kitchen table and as he began to pour his milk said, "I still don't get why I didn't get to go with you guys."

Dean, fixing himself a cup of coffee, groaned. "Not this crap again, Sammy. Dad told you why. It was a school night."

"Still," Sam tried through a mouthful of fruit loops, but Dean continued before he could say anything else.

"I don't know why you're bitching about it. You're always making such a big deal about how horrible it is that you have to miss out on _so_ much school because of what we do. Dad told you to stay home on a school night. You should be happy."

"He always let _you_ go on hunts on school nights when you were still in high school," complained Sam. It was as if he hadn't even heard his older brother speak. As if he was arguing for the sake of arguing. "And also, I've been thinking. Aren't you curious as to why dad decided to stay in L.A. for so long? I mean. I know that there are a lot of things to hunt down here. But it's weird. He rented a house this time, Dean. Not an apartment or a room. A _house. _A _furnished_ house."

_As to why_, thought Dean as he chomped a mouthful of pop-tart. His little brother was such a geek.

"So what? We've lived in houses a few times before. We just haven't hunted down this way for a while. Dad wants to make sure that bastard demon that killed mom isn't hiding around this part of the country and he wants to kill a whole lot of other baddies while he's at it. California is crawling with evil things, Sam. You know that."

"I guess," said Sam. He poked at a soggy, blue fruit loop with his spoon. "Who is dad talking to? Do you know?"

Dean placed his coffee mug in the sink. "Mind your own business, bitch." With a wicked smirk he walked over to Sam and roughly ruffled his hair. "Hurry up. You've got about fifteen minutes to eat and finish getting ready."

"Jerk," Sam spat, glaring. He quickly shoveled down the rest of his cereal. Threw his bowl and spoon into the sink and left the kitchen. Still smirking, Dean followed his brother out of the kitchen and into the living room. He watched as Sam finally disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door a little more harshly than was strictly called for behind him.

"Dean. I need to talk to you."

Surprised, Dean turned to see his father standing next to the couch. He was, at last, off of the phone. "About the call from Aunt Jessica who we haven't seen for a decade and a half?" he asked.

"Yeah," his dad answered. "About that."

Dean moved so that he was closer to his father. Leaned heavily against the back of the couch. "Was she calling about something supernatural? Does she know what we do? Because I heard something about wild dogs-"

"No. She wasn't calling about anything like that. She doesn't know." He ran a hand through his still sleep mussed hair. "Anthony, her husband, was attacked last night. He was...it was bad. He's alive but he's in a coma and not doing very well."

Dean waited for the punch line. Because yeah, what had happened to that Anthony guy sucked. And his family having to deal with it sucked, too. But these were people he hadn't seen in a _crapload_ of years. People that Dean knew his dad wouldn't even bother telling him about unless something besides their misery and pain, something major, was up.

His father sighed. "She wanted to know if she could send her son Xander here. To live with us for a while."

"Oh," said Dean. "Did she get pissed when you told her no?"

His father shook his head. Looked Dean straight in the eye. "I didn't tell her no, Dean."

For a long moment there was only silence.

Dean breathed. He wasn't normally one to question his father. That was more Sam's area. But this? Letting some long lost cousin that none of them even _knew_, that none of them had seen for literally _years_ come live with _them. _A family of demon hunters? This was one thing that was just begging to be questioned. To be fought. "What?"

His dad looked ready for a fight. "Jessica has to deal with her husband, Dean. She can't concentrate on her son right now and he's been through a lot. He won't even be here for very long."

"But-" started Dean, because he _really_ couldn't believe what it was he was hearing. But his dad went on before he could continue.

"It's not a big deal. It'll be fine."

Not _a big deal_?

Dean opened his mouth to argue; didn't know where to start. He felt as if he had up and tripped into an alternate universe. "I don't understand," he said. "We're _always_ moving around. We haven't had _any_ contact..." He trailed off and took a deep breath. "How did she even get this number? How did she even know how to contact you?" He moved away from the couch and started to pace. "We don't even _know_ this guy. What if he's a bad influence on Sam? What about hunting? What if he finds out and freaks and tells people? Or what if he gets hurt? How are we going to hide _hunting_ from him?" And yeah, he realized he was ranting now but he didn't care. He had to make his dad realize just how _insane_ the idea of letting someone live with them _was_ before it was too late.

His father shook his head.

"It'll be fine," he said. "He'll be fine, Dean." But he said it in a way that let Dean know he really wasn't entirely sure about that himself. "He's your _cousin_. You even met him when you were younger. Don't you remember?"

And Dean isn't sure if it's because of the vivid trauma of his mother's death, but he does have what he's been told are unusually clear memories of being four. And he _does_ remember little Alex. He remembers a chubby bundle of two year old with overlarge brown eyes and a dark, curly mop of hair. He remembers the way the two year old wiggled his fingers at a cooing Sammy through the bars of the crib and he remembers having entirely too much fun bossing the kid around. But there's no way he's going to _admit_ that he remembers those things. And it doesn't matter anyway. Because Alex was only a toddler then. A baby. It was all too possible that he had transformed into a horrible teenager by now. And even if he wasn't horrible, having him around would be way too dangerous and stupid for way too many reasons.

"No," he spat and spun to look his father in the eye again. "_You're_ the one who is always so careful about these things. I don't understand why you would want to do this! It doesn't make any sense!" He was shouting now, but he didn't care. Because if there was ever a time to shout at his father it was now.

"Listen. Dean." And John Winchester sounded serious now. He sounded angry. "I've already told your Aunt Jessica yes. We are _going_ to take Xander in for a little while. He is _going_ to come to L.A. tomorrow night whether you like it or not and you are _not_ going to treat him like shit just because you think that he might be a bad influence on Sam, or that he might find out about us. We'll be careful, we'll handle it. He's your mother's nephew...she would have wanted to help him. He's coming and you'll welcome him. That's an order."

Dean felt his muscles tighten, his fists clench. _An order_.

And it suddenly all made sense. His dad had agreed to help someone he hardly even knew anymore for the same reason he did almost everything he did, almost everything he had ever done. Mom.

Briefly, Dean thought about continuing his argument. _Tomorrow is too soon, it doesn't matter if it's an order I still think it's a bullshit idea_. But he knew it wouldn't do any good.

"Yes, sir." He grabbed his jacket up from its place over the recliner's arm and his keys from the coffee table. "Tell Sam to hurry it up. I'll be waiting in the car."

-----

_I think it would be best for all of us if you left...for a while_.

Xander stepped into the bus station. Took in the rows of seats and benches, the numerous vending machines, the gaggle of people lined up for tickets and the too bright fluorescent lighting. He took a seat on one of the benches next to a woman who was telling her young son that it was bad to eat things off of the floor.

He glanced at his watch. It was nineteen minutes after seven. His ride was supposed to be there at seven thirty.

_I think...I'm going to send you to live with your Uncle John for a while, Xander_.

Xander sighed and rubbed his eyes.

It was now Thursday night. Which meant that his father had been attacked nearly forty-eight hours before. Two days before. And..._man_. In just two days his father had fallen into a coma, his mother had both discovered and decided to ignore his _I hunt evil things_ secret, he had been told he was going to be sent to live with some long lost relatives he didn't even know and he had endured an uncomfortably long bus ride from Sunnydale station to inner city L.A. in order to meet and impose upon those same relatives.

_Yeah. Things are going great for me right now_. Since the moment his mother had told him her plan to send him away from Sunnydale Xander had been trying to lock away his feelings in order to avoid further troubling his mother or himself. Had been trying to hide his emotional reactions to everything that had happened and everything that was going to happen. Through listening to his mom while she begged an obviously unenthusiastic John Winchester to _take my son in, please_ over the phone, packing his things for L.A. (he had been forced to leave behind his comic book collection, his Seven of Nine poster and even his skateboard) and saying goodbye to his weak and comatose father that morning he hadn't flinched. Hadn't allowed himself to feel much of anything.

But _now_. Now he had just finished with a long bus ride and his stomach was in knots because of hunger and because of nervousness and he was _tired_.

So he could no longer hold back his emotions, his thoughts. Couldn't hide his feelings from himself any longer.

He was worried about his dad, he was angry at his mom. He was angry at himself for _being_ angry at his mom. He couldn't get the images of his father being feasted on by a demon or of his mother watching from the car with a look of relief on her face as he had made his way into the Sunnydale bus station earlier that day out of his head. He also couldn't stop thinking about his friends. And about how not one of them had contacted him or visited him at the hospital. Not Giles, not Buffy, not Oz, not Cordelia, not even Willow.

_Why_? he thought. _Why didn't they check on me_? Because honestly, if it had been one of them in Xander's position -- if something bad had happened to any of their family members -- he would've been there for his friends.

Xander glanced at his watch again. It was seven twenty-nine. He rose from his seat and gathered his luggage, then moved to stand next to the doors and look out at the street. His mother had said that John Winchester would be driving a blue Ford truck...and yeah, there it was. Parked across the street next to a parking meter. He could see a man who looked a little younger than his father was in the driver's seat of the Ford, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Hoping he had the right man and the right truck (apparently his uncle was not the type to actually walk in to a bus station to greet someone) Xander swung his backpack onto his shoulders, grabbed his suitcase and exited the bus station. As he walked toward the truck he tried to remember the details his mother had given him about John Winchester. _Ex military, two sons, wife died years ago, moves his family around a lot_.

Though Xander was far from actually knowing the guy he had admittedly heard things about John Winchester and his family before. Mostly, he had heard those things when he was younger. When his mother had still talked about her sister Mary and her sister Mary's sons and about how it was so sad that the woman had had to die so young. Xander's mother had even said something years ago about having visited her sister in Kansas just a few months before her death in '83.

He reached the truck. John Winchester gave him a measuring look and a nod of acknowledgment as he rounded the vehicle to reach the passenger's side.

And at that moment, as always, Xander was absently taking in his surroundings. It was something he did without thinking. A habit he had developed after a few too many years of demon hunting in Sunnydale. He noticed the dizzying movement of people and buses that was the station across the street, the slow look he was getting from John Winchester, the sound of a nearby shop's over-the-door bell as another customer made his or her way in or out and a high pitched...squeaking.

The squeaking (maybe more like a squealing) is what made him stop cold, his hand already gripping the truck's door handle. The sound reminded him much too much of his mother's terrified mewling the night of his father's attack. Reminded him too much of the countless people he had heard crying out in pain or in fear in Sunnydale because of one evil thing or another...

He turned and noticed that almost directly behind him, sandwiched between a shoe shop and a small Italian restaurant, was a very dark alley. The perfect place for a vampire or other dark thing to feast on poor, defenseless, unsuspecting victims on nights just like this one.

The squeaking-squealing sound came again. Only this time it was more urgent. Sounded wet.

Xander jumped when the passenger door popped open under his hand. He looked up to see his Uncle giving him a strange look. "Xander, right?" he asked.

Xander nodded. His fingers were twitching and he was suddenly jumpy with the need to destroy whatever it was that was feeding in the alley, whatever it was shrouded in the deep black. But this wasn't home. He had no back up, no weapon on hand. And his Uncle who he didn't even really _know_ was looking at him like he was crazy. So...

"Yeah," he said. "That's right." He tossed his suitcase to the back of the truck when the man motioned for him to do so. "And you're...uh, John. Uncle John."

John grinned. "That's right," he answered. "You must be tired, huh?" His eyes flickered to the alley behind Xander, too.

Xander gripped the straps of his backpack more tightly and tried to imagine that the steadily fading sound he was hearing _wasn't_ someone fighting for their life as all of their blood was drained away. "I guess. A little."

"Come on," the man said. "Get in." And he was suddenly no longer grinning.

Xander got in the truck. As he closed the door he caught the faint scent of smoke on the wind. A scent that for some reason caused goose bumps to rise on his skin and a strange tingle of recognition to spark in his mind.

"Sorry about rushing you. It's just," John said as he pulled into traffic, "Los Angeles is a very dangerous place at night."

Xander turned to look out the window of the truck. To look back at the alley.

_More dangerous than you'll ever know, Uncle John_, he thought.

-----

It took about ten minutes of driving before Xander noticed the gradual fading of bright lights, tall buildings and traffic.

They were leaving the city area and entering the suburbs.

Only a brief minute after they had turned onto a street lined with quaint, slightly worn looking one-story houses with dying front lawns the blue Ford truck pulled into a driveway. "We're here?" Xander asked his Uncle. And he knew in the back of his mind that this was kind of a big moment. A horrible moment. But because of the long bus ride and the not-being-able-to-save-someone in the alley thing and everything else that had happened that day so far he just didn't have the energy to really care.

"We're here," the man replied. He got out of the truck and slammed the door behind him, reached for Xander's suitcase.

"This kind of looks like my house in Sunnydale," Xander mumbled to no one, then got out of the truck himself.

He followed John Winchester across the front lawn, up the two steps that led up to the porch, across the small porch (it was really nothing more than a slab of concrete a few inches higher than ground level) and to the front door. John bent to sort through his keys in the dim illumination of the motion light; he needn't have bothered.

The wooden front door flew suddenly and violently inwards. It revealed two young men standing just inside the doorway. One looked to be about Xander's age. He had long legs and arms that seemed to be threatening to shoot up and out even more at any moment. The other looked a little older. He was broader looking. More solid.

The younger boy stared at Xander as if he were the most interesting sight that could ever be seen. The other guy just...stared.

"Perfect timing," said John. He straightened and put a hand on Xander's shoulder. "Sam. Dean. Say hello to your cousin, Xander."


	3. Chapter 2

The Family Business  
by Harikari

AN: I know, I know. I haven't updated this in a long, _long_ time. I apologize, I do plan to finish this thing. I'm going to skip the excuses and go straight to proclaiming _here's chapter two!_ Hope you enjoy. If you notice any glaring flaws feel free to let me know.

-----

Chapter Two: Meet the Winchesters

Caleb called this morning," said John in a low voice.

Dean looked up sharply. Dropped his fork onto his plate of hamburger helper and hissed, _"What?"_ It was a sudden, gut reaction and he regretted it immediately. He was not one to hiss at his father. He followed orders, he kicked evil ass, he always watched out for Sammy and he sure as hell _did not_ hiss at his father. Even if the man had gone ahead and invited a long lost cousin into their temporary home. A cousin who could oh so easily get hurt or killed or who could ruin everything for their family. Get one of _them_ hurt or killed. Even then.

The eldest Winchester looked up from his own plate, his mouth twisted into something ugly and his eyes narrowed. A warning look. "He and Jim are heading to Moab, Utah. A lot of people have gone missing there and a few of them have turned up dead. Mutilated. Jim thinks it's something big. If he's right they're going to need all the help they can get."

Dean took a deep breath and looked away from his father, back down at his plate. He picked up his fork and stabbed at some pieces of hamburger.

_Stab. Stab. Stab._

"Dean."

He stopped the aggressive assault on his dinner and looked up again. Met his father's eyes.

"I'm going to Utah. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. You're going to need to look after Sammy."

_No, really?_ thought Dean. Because wasn't that just the most obvious thing, like, ever? He had pretty much raised Sam. He always looked out for his little brother. Always _would_ look out for him.

"And Xander. I need you to look after both of them while I'm gone. I'm aiming for a week but...you know how it is."

_Right. And there it is._

And just as Dean was nodding Sam and Xander, who John had sent to put away Xander's few belongings in Sam's bedroom while he and Dean had dished out the food onto the plates and discussed John's upcoming hunt, stepped into the kitchen.

John stood up, his chair sliding back with a loud scraping noise. He gave Dean's shoulder a firm _slap_. "Boys. Go ahead and dig in. Dean, it's your turn to do the dishes tonight." And with that he picked up his plate and glass, brushed by the two teenagers hovering near the doorway and left the kitchen.

Sam moved to sit down and Xander took his example. There was a few minutes of nothing but the scraping of forks on plates and chewing.

Then, "So...why isn't Uncle John eating with us?"

Xander.

Dean looked up. The question hadn't sounded accusatory or even genuinely curious. More like the teenager was asking because he was nervous. Like he was saying the first thing that came to mind. _Great_, thought Dean. _He's one of_ those _jokers_.

"He has work to do," answered Dean. Maybe a little more sharply than necessary.

Xander nodded and seemed to deflate a little. He reached for his milk.

Sam shot his brother a disapproving look and Dean pretended to ignore it.

"What grade are you in, Xander?" asked Sam.

"Um. Twelfth. I'm a Senior." Xander set his glass back down on the table. "You?"

"I'm a Sophomore," said Sam. "Maybe we'll have some electives together."

Dean rolled his eyes as he chewed. Trust his brother to try and relieve a tense situation with talk of _school_.

What a nerd.

-----

Xander opened his eyes. For a long moment he stared and blinked at the unfamiliar scene surrounding him. He was on a couch. There was a television sitting on a faux wooden stand across from him and...

_Oh_, he finally realized when his gaze landed on his backpack. It was on the carpet, tucked close to the single recliner. He had retrieved it from Sam's room the night before when John (_Uncle_ John he reminded himself) had informed him that he would be sleeping on the living room couch. _Right. Los Angeles._

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Lifted his arms in a stretch and yawned. He glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes until seven in the morning.

He sat and listened for sounds of movement for a second. Could only make out the faint sound of snoring coming from behind the closed door to his Uncle's bedroom.

_They won't mind if I take a shower...will they?_ They probably wouldn't. After all, John had told him to make himself at home when he had first arrived the night before. And then there was the fact that it was a Friday and Sam had school. That meant everyone would probably be up soon and in need of a shower. It would make sense for him to take one now and get it over with.

Decision made (if he was going to stay with the Winchesters for a while he couldn't be paranoid about his every move), he got up and grabbed his bag. As quietly as he could he made his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and quickly used the facilities, showered, brushed his teeth, dressed and combed his hair. He was careful not to leave the floor wet and stuffed the towel he had used in the laundry basket next to the sink.

When he emerged from his shower Dean was up and in the living room. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and kneeling near the closed front door. Xander couldn't tell what he was doing. Picking something up? Cleaning something, maybe.

"Morning," said Xander as he dropped his backpack next to the couch, making a mental note to put it away when Sam woke up. He thought Dean might ignore his greeting (his older cousin hadn't _said_ anything about it but definitely didn't seem pleased about Xander's arrival). But then...

"Hey," said Dean. "Turn on the news for me. Channel four. And then go eat breakfast. I already made coffee if you want some."

"Yeah...okay," complied Xander. He found the remote. Pressed the power button and tuned the television to channel four. Then he dropped the remote onto the sofa arm and made his way into the kitchen.

He could hear Dean shouting for Sam to _wake up already_ as he stared at the pot of fresh coffee on the counter. There was also a half gallon of orange juice on the table. Xander grabbed a clean glass from the dish rack and poured himself some. He wasn't really a coffee kind of guy. Not unless the coffee tasted like ice cream and had whipped cream and possibly chocolate sprinkles on top.

Sipping his juice, he spotted a box of blueberry pop-tarts sitting next to the toaster. Soon he had two of the pastries toasting and had poured himself a second glass of juice.

Sam walked in just as the toaster dinged.

"Pop-tart?" offered Xander as he plucked one of the pop-tarts from the toaster.

"Good morning. Um...no. Thanks." Sam went over to the fridge and picked up the fruit loops box on top of it, shook it. "Finally," he said and dropped the apparently empty box into the trash before going for a half empty bag of wheat bread. And then in a voice almost too quiet for Xander to catch, "I _ask_ him to buy something other than sugary kid cereal but _no_."

Dean walked into the kitchen, his hair damp and dressed in jeans and a nondescript t-shirt like his brother. Xander had a second to feel awkward about his own khakis, bright orange shirt and snoopy wristwatch before his older cousin snatched the pop-tart he had still been holding aloft in offer from his hand and bit into it.

"Thanks," managed Dean as he chewed. Xander nodded. Turned to grab the other pop-tart.

"I need to get to school a little early today," said Sam. "There's this project and-"

"I _know_. You only told me like twelve times yesterday, Sam." Dean, having finished his breakfast, brushed some crumbs from his shirt. "Hurry it up. Both of you."

"Um. What?" asked Xander. Because he wasn't sure what his cousin meant. He knew he wouldn't be able to start school again until sometime next week and hadn't been told he would be going anywhere.

Dean met his eyes. It was as if he was trying to see something behind his words, measure him up. "I'm taking Sam to school. You're coming with me."

It wasn't a question.

Sam popped his wheat bread into the toaster. Xander nodded again and bit into his pop-tart.

-----

Dean had a nice car. A black '67 Chevy Impala that he _obviously_ took awesome care of.

When Xander said he liked it his older cousin broke into a sort of goofy looking grin that showed his teeth (it was the first time Xander had seen him smile like that since his arrival) and turned the volume up on the stereo. The song _Free Bird_ was playing.

Sitting in the passenger seat near his brother, Sam groaned.

When they got to Hemery High Sam said a hurried goodbye, grabbed his backpack and disappeared into the crowds of active teenagers clogging the drop-off area and the front of the school. Xander moved from the back to the front seat of the car and tried to get a look at what would be his new high school. (And he could hardly believe _that_. Just a few days ago he had been a shiny new Senior at Sunnydale High and now here he was scoping out a new school in another city). He managed to glimpse a variety of average looking teenagers, a collection of square buildings and long stretches of metal fencing before Dean pulled away.

"You start school on Monday," said his older cousin after a few minutes of no sound but the classic rock blasting from the speakers. Xander turned from where he had been looking out the window, but Dean had his eyes fixed firmly on the road in front of him. His cousin shrugged. "In case you're wondering. Your mom and your old school...they got all of the paperwork taken care of."

"Yeah," said Xander. And all of a sudden his stomach felt a little funny. "Okay." Monday. His mother had sure moved fast. He swallowed and wondered if it had been Uncle John or Dean himself who had discussed his school situation with the schools and his mother. Dean, maybe. John dismissing himself at dinner the night before, the way Dean had taken so easily to ordering him around and the way his cousin had hustled both he and Sam out the door that morning was giving Xander the impression that _he_ was the one who took care of stuff like that in the Winchester family, that he was the one Xander was going to have to answer to most of the time.

"So...what does your dad do?" asked Xander. It wasn't the greatest conversation choice but he hated the awkward silence and certainly didn't want to talk about school. Not when school made him think about his mother and about how quickly she had forced him out of Sunnydale and out of her life.

Dean seemed to tense in his seat. To hesitate. Then, "Tile."

"Tile?"

Dean nodded. "My dad has his own...tile business. I help him out. Sometimes he has to travel. Or we both have to travel. You know. Because of the tile." He shot a quick look at Xander.

Xander absorbed this information as the Impala pulled into a cramped parking lot fronting two worn looking little shops. One shop was dark and had a FOR LEASE sign in the window. The other shop was not quite as dark and had no sign at all.

Dean got out of the car and Xander followed. They walked the short distance to the second shop and a bell chimed when Dean pulled open the door.

_Oh_, thought Xander when he entered the store behind his cousin. _The cot_. His uncle had mentioned something about it the night before, right after telling Xander that he would have to take the couch for the night.

_Great_. He had no idea how much a cot from an army surplus store (which was where they were, if all the fatigues and tools were anything to judge by) was. He had the forty dollars his mother had handed him in the car when she had dropped him off at the bus station and didn't know if she would be sending him or Uncle John more for his room and board. He doubted it. And he would rather not waste the only money he had on buying a cot.

_I need to get a job. Here. In Los Angeles_. He quickly pushed the idea aside. He did not want to dwell on school and a part-time job in a city that he didn't think of as home right now.

Dean seemed to know exactly where to go. He made quick work of walking toward the back wall, selecting one of the sturdy folding cots available and then carrying it to the counter. Xander stood next to him as the older man with the Metallica t-shirt standing behind the counter rang it up.

Dean cursed. "I forgot my oth-" He shook his head and patted his pockets as if searching for something. "I forgot my wallet. I'll be right back." He rushed out the door.

Xander bit his tongue. He should really tell his older cousin that he had his own money and that it was enough to pay for the cot. But...

The counter was plexiglass. Under the plexiglass was a selection of knives, all of them displayed nicely on top of what looked like a red velvet cloth. One caught Xander's eye. It wasn't too large or too small, it folded up in such a way that he could easily keep it hidden and the handle and blade looked sturdy and sharp enough that it wouldn't slip in that annoying way if he ever had to whittle a stake with it. His fingers twitched. He hadn't been able to bring a weapon with him to L.A.; his mother had watched him pack and he hadn't wanted to chance her reaction by grabbing a handful of stakes or the mini axe he kept in his sock drawer. "Give me that one," he said. He pointed through the glass, noted the price and took out a twenty.

The old man frowned and shot a look at the door. "Don't you want to look at it first? You can-"

"No," said Xander too quickly. "Thanks. I like it. I want to buy it."

The man didn't bother with the register. He took the twenty and handed Xander the knife. Xander stuffed it into his pocket and a heartbeat later Dean was back in the store.

"Got it," said Dean. And he slid his ID and a credit card across the counter.

-----

"It's cool. That your dad has a business, I mean." Xander started to babble during the trip back to the Winchester's place. He felt nervous and a little guilty.

Dean said nothing.

"My dad doesn't have his own business. I think it would be cool. When I graduate I could work with him and not have to worry about-" He stopped.

Dad. He'd said it without thinking.

Dean looked at him then. A glance sideways. "You can call your mom when we get home." His eyes were fixed again on the bumper of the car ahead of him. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and sat up straighter in his seat. "If you want to."

Xander's throat felt tight. He didn't reply. Didn't know if he _could_ reply if he had wanted to.

Instead, he turned to stare out the window at the city rushing by. At the unfamiliar buildings and the unfamiliar people.

_Right_, he thought. _When we get_ home.

-----

Spike was angry.

"Hunter," said the Codger demon at his side. His name was Charlie and he owed Spike a favor. A rather large favor. "That's what me and the boys figure. Someone new is in town. And it's not an amateur judging by some of the crazy strong demons he's done in." Charlie's strange, white eyes met Spike's.

The vampire took another pull of his cigarette. Dropped it to the asphalt and stepped on it. He rolled his shoulders and looked around at the alley the demon had asked to meet him in. They were standing next to a bloody _trash bin_ and he could smell it.

"Hunter?" he asked, his voice low and (he knew) dangerous sounding. "That's the information you have for me?"

Charlie lifted his arms in a sort of surrender gesture. "And something else," he said quickly. "We've figured out that it isn't only a hunter. This is what's weird. Something else, something that's using some dark and powerful magic is operating around that high school. You know the one. Next to that damn witch lady's shop. The _real_ witch lady."

Spike considered the information. Nodded and then pointed a finger at the wrinkly and now nervous looking demon. "Fine. You can go now. But you still owe me, you bloody skin bag. Something _really_ juicy next time."

Charlie made an excited little sound and hurried away.

That high school. It was _Hemery High School_ if he wasn't mistaken. He'd eaten there a few days before. A tasty, ripe cheerleader who had been the last one out of practice.

Spike licked his lips. He had to go to Hemery High. He had to find out who this new hunter in town was and kill him. And he had to find out where this powerful magic was coming from and what its purpose was.

But now. Right _now_ he was hungry.

In the distance he could hear laughter. A pair of young women, it sounded like. Out for a night of drinking or shopping or dining or all three, maybe.

Grinning with anticipation he strolled away, leaving the alley dark and empty behind him.


End file.
